


Different Days

by scoutergreen



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Gen, Shorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutergreen/pseuds/scoutergreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of shorts about days in the lives of DBZ characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday

A pair of thin stiletto heels clicked across the kitchen floor and stopped at the threshold of the living room.

"Vegeta, I need you to pick up Trunks at school today. All you have to do is wait for him at the front doors at half past two, alright? I won't be home until late tonight, but my mom is already planning dinner for you guys."

"Mmph," the Saiyan responded with a disinterested snort and sat up on the couch, clothing disheveled and hair in need of a shampoo, "Trunks. Two thirty. His school. Fine."

"Vegeta, I'm serious about this. I'll send you a text message to remind you, alright?"

The Saiyan mustered enough energy to actually look up at his wife. She was dressed in a knee-length maroon pencil skirt, white blouse, sheer stockings and smart patent leather heels. "I'm not stupid, woman. I know how to tell time."

It took all of Bulma's strength not to go off on Vegeta. He was going through a period of deep depression, which only worsened his tendency towards hypersensitivity and taking things very personally. "You're not stupid, Vegeta, I just need you to be on the ball with this one. I'm going to work. You should take a shower."

"I said " _fine_ ". Go to work," Vegeta pushed himself off the couch and headed upstairs to the washroom without saying another thing to his wife. When he made it into the master bedroom, it actually felt like an unfamiliar space. He hadn't slept in the bed he shared with Bulma for close to six days straight, finding the trek upstairs after a day of doing nothing downstairs too exhausting to even contemplate. The room smelled of a cigarette smoked twenty minutes prior, high-end perfume, clean bedding, and the remnants of one of his wife's luxurious, typically soapy showers.

He found it easy enough to take off the clothing he'd worn for two days straight and step into the shower. When the warm spray of water hit him, he gasped and stood still for a few minutes before telling himself to get with it and wash out his hair already. He used Bulma's shampoo, an expensive tube of opalescent pink gel that smelled like cut grass and produced an incredibly thick lather. The more he cleaned himself, the more alert he felt, and he swore his mood was actually improving as he rinsed out his hair. Vegeta finished his shower under a cool rinse and stepped out of the shower actually feeling better about himself for the first time in a week.

Dressed in a clean pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and opting to remain barefoot until it was time to pick up Trunks, Vegeta went down to the kitchen. He stood facing the refrigerator for a few minutes, wondering when he'd last eaten a proper meal, and tried to figure out what he could even put together. He finally opened the refrigerator and surveyed its contents, finding remnants of a roast beef dinner, plenty of fruit, a block of cheese, and a huge cardboard box containing close to a third of a leftover cheese, pepperoni, sausage, mushroom, and green pepper pizza.

This pizza must have been gigantic when it was ordered. Who got this, anyway? It looks delicious.

One of the unwritten rules of the Briefs compound was that any person looking for something to eat was to not consume any take-out food another person had ordered unless given explicit permission to do so, but on that particular Friday, Vegeta really didn't care about that rule. He took the entire box out of the refrigerator, pulled a bottle of hot sauce out of the cupboard, and took his find over to the table.

Three slices into the stolen pizza, Mrs. Briefs returned home from an early morning appointment and greeted Vegeta with a cheerful "hello" as she entered the kitchen.

Vegeta grunted something resembling "hello" in return, his mouth full of pizza crust. He heard her light jacket coming off and being slung over the back of a chair, and her heavy purse was put on the end of the kitchen table. It had taken Vegeta years to realize that these actions weren't meant as an insult, but rather an indication that the person in the kitchen would be leaving the house within a matter of minutes.

"What are you up to today, Vegeta? Nice to see you eating something."

"Picking up the kid from school today."

Mrs. Briefs quietly sucked in her breath. She never got the full story from either her daughter or son in law, but apparently Vegeta had gotten into a very heated argument with another parent the school year prior and was now deeply disliked by members of parent's council, while Bulma's previously glowing reputation was suddenly marred by comments on her choice of husband. "Oh, that's nice," Mrs. Briefs put the kettle on, "Trunks just raves about you to us! He'd love to spend more time with you..."

The Saiyan snorted and caught himself before he began choking. There was no way the six year old brat liked his father- he seemed more frightened of him than anything else. "Spare me, woman. You know how I feel about empty flattery."

"It isn't empty flattery if it's true, sweetheart."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and continued eating his pizza. A few minutes passed before Mrs. Briefs set a mug of tea in front of him, and by the smell of it, she'd made him peppermint tea.

"Pizza and mint tea is a shitty combination," Vegeta muttered, pushing the mug away.

"Well, then drink it little later on. You've been complaining about your stomach hurting the past few days, so I thought this might help. Anyway, sweetheart, I need to go out again. Do you know the address?"

"Yeah," Vegeta finished his final slice of pizza and pushed the plate away, "been there a few times before." After washing down the remains of his pizza with a gulp of water, he reluctantly moved onto the tea. His stomach did hurt a little, come to think of it.

"Okay, Vegeta. I should be home around three thirty. Trunks is going to be my helper in the kitchen tonight, but you're always welcome to join us! Enjoy your day, honey!" Mrs. Briefs pulled her jacket back on, picked up her purse, her travel mug of tea, and headed out the door.

After eating, Vegeta decided he may as well take the time to ensure he looked decent for his trip to Trunks' school. During his brief interactions with the parents of other students, he'd found them thoroughly unpleasant in almost every way possible. When a mother had remarked on Vegeta's "lack of a career", as she had put it, Vegeta told her to "eat shit and die". What followed next was an argument that Bulma was forced to break up. After that incident, Bulma had warned him to always remain on his very best behaviour at Trunks' school.

Vegeta had responded to Bulma's warning by refusing to go to Trunks' school, but a year later, he found himself being forced to do just that.

He brushed his hair through until it shone and fell into its natural shape, trimmed his fingernails, and paired his black t-shirt and jeans with a grey sports jacket. Upon closer inspection in a full-length mirror, Vegeta actually felt pretty good about himself for the first time in several months.

At two o'clock, Vegeta started his walk over to Trunks' school. When he arrived at two twenty, he found there was already a long line-up of parents waiting to pick up their children. Feeling a bit awkward in such a large crowd of strangers, Vegeta hung back until the majority of the parents had picked up their children.

"Daddy!" A young voice called out, and Vegeta caught a blur of violet hair and bright clothing bounding towards him.

"Hey, kid. C'mon," Vegeta went to leave the schoolyard when Trunks gently tugged on the bottom of his coat and pointed at a young teacher holding a clipboard.

"You gotta sign me out, Papa..." Trunks couldn't believe his father didn't know about the sign-in/sign-out process. There were only four adults who could pick him up or drop him off at school: Mom, Dad, Gramma, and Grampa. More often than not, it was Gramma or Grampa who picked him up. Mom would pick him up on occasion, almost always driving and in a real rush. As for Dad... he picked up Trunks maybe once or twice per school year, and he was never happy about it. Once, he'd been a half hour late.

"Oh, right. That shit. Alright," he approached the teacher, "where do I sign?"

"So you're Trunks' father? It's nice to meet you," she extended her hand and her smile grew when Vegeta shook her hand, albeit with some hesitation, "and it's a pleasure having Trunks in my classroom this year. He's a very bright boy. By the way, here's his quarter-year report," she reached into a bag slung over her shoulder and retrieved a single page of paper folded in half.

"Mm," Vegeta took the paper and lazily scrawled his signature next to Trunks' name and student number, unsure of how to respond, "I'm sure my wife will be interested in seeing this report. Good bye."

It wasn't until he and Trunks were off school property did Vegeta realize he'd signed his name using Galactic Standard script. He cracked up laughing at his own error and wondered if the teacher had noticed yet.

"Since we're walking, I may as well look at your report card, kid," Vegeta retrieved the now twice-folded sheet of paper from his back pocket and began skimming it, "I see you have 96 in math. What's that number out of?"

"One hundred. Dad, did you go to a school that used letter grades?"

_No, just physical and psychological abuse and so much boring, unrelenting travel..._

"Kind of. I went to school so long ago, you'd have to read about it in a history book. Hm... 97 in English, 94 in... why the hell are you studying German, kid? Is your mother making you do that shit? Well, whatever, good for you... it's probably a good idea to become multilingual. What do you do in "visual art", anyway?"

"It's where we make art. This week we made bowls out of clay. My art teacher says she is putting them in a ki-ki... um, a kiln this weekend. I think it's called a kiln. I like it when we get to paint!"

"Okay. You must be a decent artist if you have a 93 in the class. Your lowest mark is in "physical education". What the fuck is physical education? Do they make you undergo training at that school?"

Trunks stared up at his father, bright blue eyes wide and mouth open with amazement. "You said a bad word..."

"You didn't answer my question. What is physical education, and why do you have 72 out of 100 in it?"

Trunks stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, gripped a bar of a wrought iron fence, and bent it two inches to the left. "Ugh, I hate gym class!"

" _Gym_ _class_?"

"You know, sports and stuff. This week we played baseball and the teacher made me sit out the entire class, because he says I throw the balls too hard and that I hurt people! I don't mean to! I'm not throwing hard, Dad! He's a liar! He just doesn't like me!"

When tears welled up in Trunks' eyes, Vegeta found himself setting his teeth on edge and hissing with annoyance. "Don't cry, boy! Your teacher is a fucking idiot."

"You said a bad word again..."

" I say bad words all the time. Get used to it. Ugh... _Ican'tbelieveI'msayingthis_ ," he muttered, "what does your mother or grandmother usually do when you earn a decent report from school?"

"Well, Mommy takes me for hamburgers, but Gramma takes me to the movies and lets me play at the arcade there too."

" _Ugh_ ," Vegeta was put off by the idea of being stuck in a crowded cinema, likely surrounded by children and their insufferable parents, "no movies. How about ice cream? I've got money for that..." Vegeta fished several coins out of his jeans pocket and determined he had enough for something good.

"Yay!" Trunks' mood brightened in an instant and he hopped around his father excitedly, "you're so cool!"

They stopped at an ice cream parlour on their way back to the Capsule compound; Vegeta was fond of caramel ice cream, while Trunks immediately went for a chocolate milkshake. As much as the Saiyan hated being in crowded spaces filled with strange humans, he mentally coached himself through the process of placing the orders and paying for them without cursing or displaying severe anger. Three minutes later, with his ice cream cone in hand (and several extra napkins stuffed into his pocket) and Trunks contentedly sipping away at his treat, they continued the walk back home.

They were quiet for close to an entire city block when Trunks spoke up: "I think getting ice cream is pretty cool, Dad. You don't pick me up often."

"Everybody else was busy today."

Trunks went back to his milkshake. "I wish you could pick me up more often. You're funny."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He wasn't funny- or at least he didn't try to be funny. "I thought you were scared of me, kid."

Trunks paused to take another sip of his milkshake. "Not really. You just _seem_ scary."

The Saiyan wasn't sure if he was insulted or encouraged by this remark. "Oh, I see how it is. If you aren't scared of me, then it's time we began training you so that you can get a handle on your strength for situations like _gym class_ , kid. You're old enough to begin serious training now. No more fun stuff."

Trunks swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. He'd never been in the "gravity room" his father used, and his mother and grandparents had warned him to stay out of there until given permission to enter. If there was one thing that Trunks found frightening about his father, it was that he was extremely strong and had incredible powers _._ He'd seen his father floating midair, sending currents of electricity through his fingertips. If his father got upset, sometimes nearby objects would begin to shake. He was sure he'd seen his father send a carton of milk sliding across the table one day using only his thoughts. Once, he'd even seen his father effortlessly holding up the front end of a truck as his mother worked underneath.

The young half-Saiyan knew his father was different from other people, and Trunks was becoming more aware by the day that he wasn't like his classmates. He looked different from them and thought differently too. Even though Trunks had just started first grade three months prior, he found his classes (aside from gym class, anyway) weren't very challenging.

"Well, okay... will you teach me how to fly like you?"

"It'll happen if you train with me. And I'm willing to sweeten the deal, kid, so listen up: you get your mark up in that "gym class", and I'll start picking you up from school on Fridays. But that needs to be a secret for right now, alright?"

"Really?! You're so cool!"

They reached the compound, and Vegeta punched the security code to open the wrought-iron gate and led his son inside. See, I can remember to pick up the kid and complete the task, he thought bitterly, still irritated by how his wife had spoken to him in the morning.

Trunks ran inside, excited to be home, and ran straight to the kitchen. "Gramma, Gramma! Dad got me a milkshake!"

"Oh, he did? Isn't your Daddy nice, Trunks?" Mrs. Briefs knelt down to smooth her grandchild's hair and gave him a welcome home kiss on the forehead. As Vegeta strolled into the kitchen, intent on taking something (anything) to snack on, Mrs. Briefs rose to her full height and gave her son in law an approving nod.

"Did you get yourself something too, Vegeta?"

"Yeah, yeah," the Saiyan tried to brush the whole thing off, acting like he was more interested in the pantry than conversation. After a few minutes, he decided it would be wise to just wait for dinner.

"Trunks, why don't you go wash up before we get to making meatballs for tonight's dinner, hmm? What's Grandma's rule about cooking in the kitchen?"

"We gotta wash our hands and scrub underneath our fingernails!" Trunks set his nearly-empty milkshake on the kitchen counter and ran out of the room. Seconds later and the sound of a child bounding up the stairs reached the room.

"So," Mrs. Briefs looked back at Vegeta, her unusual smile returning, "did you enjoy getting out a bit today?"

"Mm, yeah. The kid's alright, I guess. Oh," he reached into his pocket and passed her the folded report card, "here's his report. He reports good progress in all subjects except for his "gym" class- apparently the teacher's making him sit out certain activities because Trunks can't exactly play within the confines of human strength and abilities."

The woman took the report card and gave Vegeta a knowing nod. "He's a very rambunctious boy. Very strong, too."

"Of course he is. The woman gets upset whenever I suggest that it's time he begin intensive training under my watch- thinks he's going to get hurt..."

"Well, that's a valid concern..." Mrs. Briefs was also uneasy with the idea of her grandson adopting some of his father's behaviours. She too worried that her grandson would sustain injuries within the GR.

"He won't be thrown into the deep end, woman. Believe me, I have an idea of where he needs to start and where he needs to go. I'm bringing him into the GR tomorrow. Anyway, I'll leave you and the boy to your little kitchen activity. I must train and prepare myself, along with the GR, for Trunks to begin his training in the morning."

Vegeta turned and left the kitchen before his mother in law could object. He went straight to the GR, a room he hadn't visited in a while, switched on all the lights, and took a deep breath as he stood in the centre of the room and took in the space. It had been a better day than he'd expected, and knowing that he had a goal set for the following day only made it that much better. A small tendril of something close to hope, actually eager to begin training his offspring, sparked somewhere in his chest. For the first time in what surely had been years by that point, Vegeta felt as though he had renewed purpose and importance within the strange family that had become his own.

He was already looking forward to Saturday morning.

**End**

 


	2. Chapter 2

Trunks was on his seventh slice of pizza when he picked up the sound of his baby sister squealing with laughter, followed by the sound of his father's raspy cackle. They had been "playing" in the living room for close to an hour. In response, he hissed with derision and returned his attention to his tablet, engrossed in the latest episode of a drama series he and all his classmates were obsessed with. School was to resume in less than two weeks, and Trunks wanted to participate in the inevitable schoolyard debates about the show without feeling like he was out of the loop.

"Peek a boo!"

More high pitched laughter and the sound of tiny hands clapping with delight. Why does he spend so much time with her, thought Trunks, he never spent that much time with me when I was little! And now he's always yelling at me and stuff!

"Peek a boo!"

Even more laughter from the both of them.

But how can I resent a little baby, he tried to reason, it's not _her_ fault...

Then his father came strolling into the kitchen, cradling his daughter with one thick arm, ropy with well-defined and well-used muscle. "Boy, turn on the hot water and get a bottle for your sister out of the refrigerator."

"Can't do it yourself, huh?" Trunks angrily pushed his chair back across the tile floor and sneered at his father.

"Don't even start with me," Vegeta kept his voice quiet and even-toned, but his eyes flashed a familiar meanness, "warm up Bulla's bottle and give me the courtesy of sitting still with my daughter."

Trunks muttered under his breath as he retrieved a full bottle of breast milk from the refrigerator and held it under a stream of hot water, handing it to his father when he decided it was warm enough. The young teenager really hated that his mother had decided to work a series of sixty hour weeks over his short summer vacation.

Vegeta held the bottle between the tip of his thumb and forefinger and looked up at Trunks, thoroughly unimpressed. "Dry it," he warned in an icy tone.

Trunks did not argue. He watched, anger slowly rising, as his father tested the temperature of the bottle against the inside of his wrist and waited a few minutes before he decided it would be suitable for the infant. When Vegeta started feeding his baby daughter and his focus was clearly centred on her, Trunks abandoned the pizza he'd been consuming and left the dining room, snarling something about things "not being fair".

Several minutes later, with Bulla falling asleep in his cradled right arm, Vegeta reached across the table with his free arm and turned the pizza box around so he could have something to eat. When Vegeta saw that his thirteen year old son had ordered a cheese, grilled chicken, jalapeno pepper and mushroom pizza, the Saiyan was quick to take a large bite.

Heh, that kid's got good taste in pizza toppings...

* * *

"It's not fair! He frickin' dotes on her and is all _goo-goo_ , _gaa-gaa_ with her! It's gonna make me hurl, man!"

Trunks picked up a stone and hurled it into the thicket of trees behind the small house where Krillin lived with his wife and their young daughter. He wanted to rip their front door off its hinges, but Trunks knew that would be very impolite. The former monk lived nearby Capsule Corp on a quiet street far that managed to seem far removed from urban traffic, and Trunks was glad there was somebody around who _got_ that living with Vegeta was nothing short of strange.

"Well, Trunks, maybe your father's just really enjoying the opportunity to, well, be a father again?"

" _Pffffft_. What a dumb idea."

Krillin shook his head and chuckled. "Now, that sounds like something your father would say! Don't take it too personally, Trunks. Your Dad really isn't the greatest at showing affection."

"Oh, but he's fine with my new sister..."

"Your Dad's come a long way," Krillin offered, voice reluctant and cracking, "I'm amazed by what you've told me, to be honest!"

The half-Saiyan rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"No, really! Trunks, I've known your Dad for close to twenty years, and I know for a fact that he cares for your Mom, your baby sister, and especially you, in his own weird way. He's not so good at being affectionate, so that shows he's come a long way, you know?"

"Not really," Trunks tilted his chin up and looked at Krillin with narrowed eyes, "everybody's always making excuses for him. My grandma always says he's "come a long way" too, when he obviously hasn't!"

Krillin laughed at Trunks' expression. "Wow, you do resemble your dad! He shoots that exact look all the time! Ha!"

Trunks growled and kicked at the ground.

"Look, Trunks... your dad is kind of a, well... I'm sure you've noticed by now that your dad thinks differently from other people. He's intelligent, but it means his brain also works differently than yours or mine. He's got an awful lot going on in that head of his, and he's doing his best to be a good father. Sometimes you can catch him in a talkative and open-minded kind of mood, and when you do, take advantage of it. At some time or another, the small group of people who can actually say they've spent time around the guy have all taken that approach and it's managed to..." Krillin searched for the right words, teeth on edge, "establish some kind of agreement or even borderline friendliness."

Trunks kicked at the dirt once more and heaved a sigh. "I guess you're right... I'll give it a try. He's probably just gonna yell at me some more, though. Thanks, Krillin."

"Any time, Trunks. Hey, don't tell you-know-who, but I heard your mom's planning a barbeque for the weekend," Krillin winked, "and I might show up with that potato salad..."

"The warm kind with the bacon in it?! You'd better bring lots!"

* * *

At eleven in the evening, with his infant daughter fast asleep (he kept a baby monitor in his jeans pocket, just in case) and his wife taking her evening bath, Vegeta jumped up to the roof and found Trunks sitting there with his knees drawn up to his chest, face sullen and eyes fixed on the stars. The Saiyan did not want to do this, but his wife was insistent he speak with his son, and he was very reluctant to disobey her direct order. He took his wedding vows seriously.

"Hey, kid."

Trunks gave his father an oddly familiar cool stare and then looked back at the sky.

"Oh, come on," Vegeta sat beside his son, maintaining an eighteen inch wide space between them, "don't give me that, Trunks. Either tell me what the fuck your problem is or drop the sullen act. It's getting old, and it's getting old real fast. Spit it out!"

"You are! Alright?! You're so nice with Bulla and so mean to me!"

"Bulla is an infant, while you are fast becoming a teenage shithead, so of course I'm going to treat you differently. Should Bulla become a teenage shithead, God forbid, I shall treat her accordingly. See how it works?"

"You're always yelling at me!"

"Because you're always doing things that warrant me raising my damn voice! Just the other day your mother told me you were taking stacks of magazines and tearing them into halves and quarters! Last week your grandfather told me you were pushing his truck down the driveway!"

"Why do you care?! You've punched holes in the walls before! And besides, you weren't even nice to me when I was little! Now all of a sudden you're being an even bigger asshole and blaming it on my age! Ugh, even Mom calls you "asshole" all the time. Did you know that?"

Vegeta laughed. "Of course I know! You should hear the other things she calls me! But why the hell were you ripping up magazines? Those belonged to your grandmother. She's really upset, which in turn pisses me off. Oh, and by the way, I haven't punched a hole in the wall in several years."

Trunks stared at his father with his upper lip curled into a sneer and his eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't get it. And I really doubt you care that grandma is "upset", by the way. You don't care about anybody except yourself."

The Saiyan prince rolled his eyes. This kind of intense, one-on-one parenting wasn't his strong suit. Vegeta wasn't the greatest negotiator when he wasn't allowed to use his powers and strength as an intimidation tactic. "Try me," he finally spoke, "I was your age not all that long ago."

"You're like, forty five, Dad! You're _old._ You've got wrinkles and you go on about having a balanced diet."

Internally stinging from Trunks' ageist remarks, Vegeta found himself coasting on his cool exterior. "Saiyans have an average lifespan of one hundred and seventy five to two hundred years. Some are rumoured to have lived for up to three hundred years. Forty-five is _not_ old. Forty-five years is young even by human standards, my boy. Now, without making any cracks about my age, tell me what the problem is before I really get annoyed. Why the hell were you ripping up those magazines?"

"Ugh..." Trunks wrung his hands and rubbed his forearms, "okay, fine. It's like all my bones and muscles and tendons get achy and twitchy at the same time, and unless I start hitting something or lifting something heavy or whatever, I feel all crazy and can't sit still! The teacher keeps getting mad at me because I can't even sit through a ninety minute long period at this point!"

Again, Vegeta laughed. Oh, how he remembered that feeling. "Do you find it hard to sleep through the night? Would you rather stay up until the sun rises and then sleep until early afternoon?"

"Yeah..."

"Hmm," Vegeta knew he was on to something and persisted, "you find your skin and hair getting really greasy, and I bet you find yourself getting smelly halfway through the day... don't you?"

"Have you been following me around or something? You're weird!"

"Oh, please! Like I'm really interested in the daily goings on of a teenage boy! I did, however, go through puberty about thirty years ago, and I remember it very well indeed."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "So? What's your point?"

"My point is that I can actually understand why you're ripping up magazines and why you find it hard to sit still. It's a part of growing up, and you are in for quite the ride, my boy. I can give you bigger and better challenges, and the kind of guidance through this weird period that I personally did not receive when I was your age. Your mother has insisted I don't push you hard when you do commit the time and energy to training, but as far as I can see, you damn well need to be pushed. What do you say?"

"As long as you stop yelling at me, fine," Trunks struggled to keep his face neutral and shot his father a cool stare, "like you're gonna give me any difficulty in a fight... I'm getting real strong, you know!"

The Saiyan snickered and gave Trunks' shoulder a light tap with a closed fist. "Don't count on it, kid. I may be "old" in your naive, half-human eyes, but I can kick your ass. Now get to bed!"

Trunks rose to his feet. He didn't know how to feel about the conversation he'd just had with his father, but he was excited by the idea of being challenged and given the opportunity to channel the weird energy surging through his body into something a bit less destructive. "G'night, Dad..."

Vegeta looked back at his son and smirked. "Oh, by the way... I ate the rest of your pizza. Good choice of toppings, kid."

* * *

At five minutes past midnight, Bulma crawled into bed beside her husband, who was playing a hand-held video game. "Oooh, what a day... I can't wait until this weekend so I'll have the chance to have some fun! You've been amazing with the baby these past few weeks."

"Mm?" Vegeta set his tablet down and wondered if he should really get his wife's honest opinion on something that had been bugging him all night, before it came tumbling out of his mouth: "do you think I look old, Bulma?"

"What? Are you craz- well, you are... Vegeta, you look like you're barely thirty. You got carded the last time we went to a restaurant and you tried to order a martini! Shit, I wish I could age like you! I only look so good because I take fantastic care of myself."

"Oh yeah," Vegeta chuckled at the memory, "that was pretty funny. Trunks said that I look "old" tonight. Little bastard got under my skin with that comment..."

"What have I told you about that term, Vegeta?"

Vegeta sighed. "Even though Trunks technically _is a bastard,_ we do not use that word to describe him... I confronted him about the magazines he's been ripping up. It's growing pains, just like I said it was a few weeks ago... his Saiyan genes are kicking in and will be driving him crazy for a few years. Oh, puberty..."

It was Bulma's turn to sigh. "Already? Geez, it seems like I just gave birth to Trunks... I can't believe it's been thirteen years! But I suppose I should accept the inevitable, shouldn't I? Trunks and his classmates are all going through the same thing right now, well... similar things."

"It's time to ramp up his training. He wants to, and he starts tomorrow. By the weekend, his mood will be a lot more stable."

"Oh, good," Bulma yawned and pulled the covers further up her torso, "so he won't get out of sorts at the barbeque."

Vegeta turned his tablet off and started settling down in the bed. "Barbeque?"

"Surprise," the woman giggled, "a little end-of-summer get together. I promise you that there will only be people you already know, and if you feel like taking off and training after having something to eat, I won't hold it against you."

"Mm," Vegeta reached over to the lamp on his nightstand and switched it off, "please tell me that baldo and that bitch 18 are bringing some of that warm potato salad with the bacon..."

"Already confirmed it. They're bringing extra seeing as Trunks ran off with the entire serving bowl last time..."

"Fair enough," he rolled over and gave his wife a rather chaste kiss on the cheek, "good night, Bulma."

END


	3. Saturday Evening

"Hey, mind if we discuss something really quick before they arrive?"

"Mm," a disinterested voice responded, far more concerned with getting ready than having a discussion.

"I know you've, well... had some issues with one of our guests in the past, but maybe we can use tonight as a way to move past it?"

A low, bored sigh. "I'll consider it."

"Please, don't start any fights... even if they try to needle you into reacting."

"No promises."

Krillin rubbed his temples and tried not to sigh audibly. "Eighteen... please don't get into a scrap with Vegeta. Please? I promised Bulma that you'd be civil, and she promised that Vegeta would be on his best behaviour."

Eighteen studied herself in the mirror, pleased with how she looked. She'd decided on a flared blue dress and powdery pink flat shoes, a simple strand of pearls around her neck, and small silver hoops in her ears.

"Oh, Krillin. I can't say no to such a polite request, can I?" She bent slightly at the knees to kiss her husband on the cheek and smoothed his short, dark hair.

Krillin allowed himself to sigh with relief and admired his wife's new outfit. "You look beautiful. Uhm, so I guess they'll be showing up any minute now..."

Vegeta and Bulma Briefs turned up at exactly 6:35 PM, just late enough for Bulma to consider their arrival fashionable, but still close enough to the time in the invitation to keep Vegeta from getting angry due to real or perceived tardiness.

It had been a little more than four years since the Cell Games, and both couples had been living their respective lives, striving for some kind of normalcy. Krillin had heard through Bulma that Vegeta had been struggling tremendously with depression, and he wasn't entirely sure what to expect when he answered the door.

When he laid eyes on Vegeta standing on his doorstep dressed in dark jeans, a white t-shirt and cognac blazer, Krillin bit his lower lip to stifle a shocked laugh. "Whoa, hey, Vegeta! Lookin' sharp!"

"Yeah, yeah," Vegeta crossed the threshold into the house, "Bulma's getting her dessert out of the back seat. She doesn't trust me to do it."

"Smart woman," Eighteen strolled into the front hall where Krillin and Vegeta stood and smirked, "hello, Vegeta."

"Mm," Vegeta acknowledged Eighteen by raising his head slightly and clicked his tongue, "hello, Eighteen."

Bulma entered the house, carrying a large silver tray of pastries. "I'm here, at last! You can't leave Vegeta alone with eclairs or fruit tarts- last time my Mom made some he decided to sneak down the stairs during the middle of the night and he a-"

"Bulma! Please!" Vegeta's face was bright red and he avoided everybody's eyes.

"Oh, right... well! Where can I set this, Eighteen?"

"Come with me," Eighteen eyed the embarrassed Saiyan and smirked, "let him collect himself..."

Vegeta rolled his eyes again and then locked his gaze on Krillin. He hadn't seen the human in a few years, and he didn't know what to make of the man with a full head of black hair. The short man wore khakis and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Hi."

"So, long time no see, hm? What have you been up to?"

The Saiyan rolled his eyes and took a moment to look around the entrance and living room of the modest house. It not only looked impeccably clean, but it smelled clean too. No lingering notes of cigarette smoke nor the mouth-watering scent of gourmet cooking and fresh baking, two scents he'd actually grown attached to.

Finally, he replied, gaze fixed on a small Buddhist shrine in the corner of the living room: "not a hell of a lot."

Krillin nervously cleared his throat. "Uhm, we should go check out the barbeque and see if it's heated up yet. Hey, do you like ribs, Vegeta?"

The Saiyan shrugged in agreement and followed the man out to their modest backyard patio. Anything to get away from that robot and his wife, who had thoroughly embarrassed him despite knowing that it was one of the most surefire ways to trigger a negative reaction. He'd been married for a few years by that point and wouldn't trade it for the world, but some of his wife's behaviour bothered him.

"So, how's this so-called peaceful life treating you, human?" Vegeta sat in one of the sturdy woven chairs around the patio dining table and absentmindedly picked at his nails.

"Well Vegeta, you could say things are pretty great! My wife and I have a young daughter, oh, she's with a babysitter tonight, we needed a night off, and we bought this hou-" Krillin opened the barbeque lid and immediately noticed a serious lack of heat, "and my grill isn't hot, at all... despite turning it on twenty minutes ago..." the man knelt down to check the propane tank and groaned when he realized it was empty.

"Well, crap."

"What now?"

Krillin wasn't facing the Saiyan, but he could practically hear his signature eye-rolling and derision in his voice. It sent a chill down his spine and made him feel sick to his stomach. "Uhm... we're, well, _I'm_ gonna have to the store and get some more propane. You can come along, if you want to."

"I think I have to," Vegeta rose from the chair and watched Krillin disconnect the fuel tank, "because the idea of being stuck here between _my wife_ and _your wife_ makes me want to tear my fucking hair out."

Nervous laughter spilled out of Krillin, ad he motioned for Vegeta to follow him back through the house with a slight tilt of his head and a forced smile.

On his way out to Krillin's waiting vehicle, Vegeta pulled a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and kept moving, ignoring Bulma's rising voice and line of questioning.

"Go, go," Vegeta practically threw himself into the front passenger seat of Krillin's car, "before she gets outside and gives me shit."

Krillin sped away as per Vegeta's request, and only realized the contents of his passenger's drink after he'd popped the cap off.

"Hey, you're not supposed to drink alcohol in a car! What if we get stopped by the cops?"

Vegeta shrugged and took a long sip. "Then claim innocence and I'll deal with them, if you're so damn afraid of them."

Krillin realized there was no stopping the headstrong Saiyan. As they merged onto the freeway, Vegeta periodically sipped his beer and gazed out the window.

"What gives? I've seen you have a drink before... just not... sneaky drinking..." Krillin's voice drifted when he suddenly wondered if there was something seriously amiss with his passenger.

The Saiyan was actively watching for any sign of law enforcement and took a small sip. "Hmph. I'm not supposed to consume alcohol if I take these pills Doctor Sharma prescribed for me."

"Uhh, who is Doctor Sharma, and what kind of medication are you taking? You could make yourself really sick if you mix certain medications and alcohol."

"I'm not," another sip and the bottle was almost empty, "taking any pills, that is. Doctor Sharma is the head doctor at Capsule Corp's in-house medical team. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Worse than usual. Doctor Sharma prescribed these pills that are supposed to make you fall asleep and then stay asleep, but I stopped taking them after a week and a half."

"Why?"

Vegeta's face went red and he finished his beer, then tossed the bottle into the backseat area where it hit the empty fuel tank with a piercing clang. "You tell anybody about this and I will murder you, understood? The pills make me fall sleep, but they also make me do weird shit while I'm sleeping. One night I got out of bed and took a shower. In my sleep. Still wearing my night clothes. Then I went back to bed, sopping wet. A few nights later, I woke up in the middle of eating a sandwich while standing in the middle of my father-in-law's garage."

"Geez, Vegeta. Why haven't you told Bulma? Or your doctor?"

Vegeta shrugged. "I'll tell Doctor Sharma when I see her in a week or whatever it is. Both the doctor and my wife can learn of my decision to stop taking the pills at that time."

Krillin couldn't think of any way to respond to what Vegeta had just told him. One thing the human had learned about the Saiyan was that when he did speak about his personal life, there was always a great deal of information that could be extracted from what little he said out loud. Krillin knew that many people struggled with bouts of insomnia, including himself, but for Vegeta to admit that he'd been taking a prescribed drug in a bid to get some good sleep set off alarm bells in his head. Insomnia could be a symptom of major depression or other serious health issues, and considering it had taken five attempts to get Vegeta to come over with Bulma, it all almost sounded like an admission that he wasn't doing well.

It had been four years since Goku had sacrificed himself to defeat Cell, and everybody knew that the entire experience had devastated Vegeta. The Saiyan had grown very reclusive, and according to Bulma, he'd slid into a very deep depression. She never delved deep into her husband's issues, but she told those closest to her that there were times when she worried Vegeta would completely lose his will to live.

Several minutes passed in silence before Krillin worked up the nerve to probe a bit further into Vegeta's mental state in the most indirect way he knew possible: "how is your training going? You still use that incredible gravity chamber Bulma designed for you?"

The Saiyan sucked his teeth rather loudly and shook his head just once. "Why bother?"

"Well, it is good to get into a sort of _maintainence_ program. Keep up what you worked so hard for, you know?"

Vegeta glanced over at Krillin and gave him a particularly chilling expression: his mouth hardened into a tight line and he narrowed his eyes, sharply exhaling through his nostrils as it all culminated with a dramatic raising of his sharp eyebrows and tipping of his chin. "So what are you doing, then?"

"Oh, well," Krillin signalled and glanced over his shoulder before merging into the exit, "I teach tai chi and qi gong at a nearby community centre a couple nights a week, run most mornings, have a gym membership... I keep busy and active, you know? I have to. If I don't, my mood really takes a dive because things just aren't the same without Goku. He and I have been best friends since we were kids... life is a lot harder with him gone."

Vegeta shifted in his seat and recognized a familiar collection of bright store signage. They must have been heading to one of the stores that specialized in home wares and camping supplies.

"You know," Vegeta felt a smirk creeping across his mouth as he began speaking, "you've always had very good form in battle. I like that about you- you're a good tactical fighter in spite of your pathetic power level."

"Oh, thanks..." Krillin felt like he'd been slapped in the face and grimaced as he brought the car to a stop.

"I mean it, baldi- right, you grew your hair out... you're not too bad at what you do. Come train with me sometime. I need a sparring partner who can hold their own. And you can show me this tai chi, I suppose."

"Uh, Vegeta, that's really nice and all bu-"

Vegeta slapped the dashboard and groaned with annoyance, "ugh, I won't break your bones or anything! I know how to be fucking reasonable, alright?!"

With considerable (and understandable) reluctance, Krillin began to agree to Vegeta's proposal when his phone rang. It was his wife, first wondering if things were fine, and then asking if the two men could pick up a pint of vanilla ice cream and a couple cloves of garlic. Krillin never expected Vegeta to actually offer to pick up the items, but with a grocery store directly across the parking lot from the large home ware store, it did make sense.

Twenty five minutes later, Krillin suppressed a laugh as Vegeta emerged from the grocery store with a bag of groceries in one hand and a grilled sausage in a bun in the other. "Don't laugh at me," Vegeta muttered as he got back into the car, "I'm hungry. I haven't felt so hungry in months."

Vegeta was more focused on eating as they merged back onto the freeway. Five minutes later, after devouring his grilled treat (the smell made Krillin's stomach rumble) Vegeta cleared his throat and looked Krillin up and down, as though physically inspecting him for proof of any lies or deceit.

"So you agree to train with me, then?"

The sudden questioning from the Saiyan startled Krillin and he nearly shifted the transmission into second gear when he meant to downshift into fifth. "Uhh, I guess? Do you really wanna learn tai chi?"

"I may as well learn a new skill. As you say, you have to keep busy and active. Come over on Tuesday morning."

"Uhh... okay, Vegeta. I will."

Sausage devoured, Vegeta pulled open a bag of cheddar cheese popcorn and began munching. Krillin waited for the Saiyan to speak, but there were no words from Vegeta for several minutes.

Finally, mouth free for a few moments, he spoke: "and don't mention it at dinner," another mouthful of popcorn, "I'll tell Bulma myself when the time is right."

* * *

At half past ten, Bulma pulled out of the short driveway outside the small house Krillin and Eighteen shared, unlit cigarette clamped between her teeth. The dinner had been quite enjoyable, but neither Krillin nor Vegeta spoke about their spontaneous trip for the entire evening, and not knowing what had happened left Bulma feeling very aggravated.

"Just what the hell was that earlier this evening, running off like that?"

"We needed propane. Baldie forgot to fill his tank, the idiot..." Vegeta leaned back in the leather car seat and yawned, "besides, it seems like you and the fembot were busy enough without us around."

Bulma lit her cigarette before shifting into gear and proceeding down the street. "I can't believe you, Vegeta! And drinking? You know that Doctor Sharma specifically told you not to consume alcohol with the medication to help you sleep!"

"Eh, stopped taking those pills about a week ago."

Bulma's grip on the steering wheel went white-knuckled tight. "WHAT?!"

Vegeta shrugged. "Don't worry. I'm going to try tai chi as a new alternative. Doctor Sharma said I should "explore my options", the Saiyan derisively waved his hands, "she suggested things like yoga and tai chi and "meditation", whatever the fuck that is..."

"Tai chi? Seriously, Vegeta? You expect me to buy that?"

"I am quite serious," the Saiyan reached down to pick up the half-eaten bag of popcorn he'd purchased earlier in the evening, "baldie and I discussed it. He's coming over on Tuesday."

They drove in tense silence for several minutes. Bulma smoked her cigarette almost down to the butt and Vegeta munched away, thoughts drifting toward real hunger despite having just eaten.

"You gotta keep busy, after all," Vegeta broke the silence, "no point in mulling over shit I can't ever change."

Bulma felt a small smile forming on her face. It was a tiny step in the right direction; Bulma had learned to listen for little clues in her husband's words. She had learned that there was always more to what he did say, and with gentle and patient persistence he may just open up a bit more.

"Say," Bulma spoke up again as they pulled into the driveway, "do you want to go have a glass of wine out on the balcony? It's a gorgeous night..."

Another mouthful of popcorn. "Yeah, I would. We haven't done that in ages. How long has it been?"

"Far too long," Bulma turned the car engine off and smiled at her husband before snatching the bag of popcorn from his hands, "you go get the wine, and I'll meet you on the balcony."

"Hey! That's my popcorn," Vegeta moved to take his popcorn bag but Bulma pulled it out of reach, "give me that!"

The woman winked at Vegeta and ate a few kernels. "Maybe I want some too, cutie. Now, I'll see you upstairs," she exited the car and was quick to get out of the garage, "now go get the wine and meet me upstairs! And don't waste any time!"

With a genuinely amused chuckle, Vegeta got out of the car and walked to the kitchen. He didn't plan to drink any more alcohol, but he was happy to keep his wife's glass full if that's what she wanted. For the first time in years, it finally felt like things were moving again.

It was good to keep busy, he decided, I should make a point of staying that way.


End file.
